


The Spark of Creation

by azurefishnets



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Eldritch basketball wizards becoming gods, Somewhat adversarial found family, a certain amount of possibly mutual pining, inventing the Rites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:04:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/pseuds/azurefishnets
Summary: The vision was just the beginning of a greater purpose. A Book needs materials and its authors.





	The Spark of Creation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hecleretical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecleretical/gifts).

The bones of the archbeast sang in a unison that broke and shattered as its slayers struck the final blow, a clustering chord that shook the cosmos and resounded in an ever-growing cry that stopped the sun in her procession across the sky and sent the moon flying from his faithful orbit. Sung-Gries howled in eerie counterpoint, and the resulting dissonance withered every plant in the area and would have killed any being left standing were it not for the combined magics of Molten Milithe, the Blessed-Born Triesta Tithis, and Lu Sclorian the Hundred-Minds shielding them all. The sound rebounded on its creator and shook the beast apart, sending the victors staggering, and in a great gush, water began to pour from Sung-Gries’s massive eye, now clenched closed in the Titan’s last wailings. It splashed over them, soaking the group and knocking them off their precarious footing. They fell, Soliam toppling first and followed by each in turn, and as they sank into that timeless moment, the darkness around them was slowly lit by the moon’s light. They fell into the light-song-vision, the Titanic cacophony subsumed by the music the stars knew.

The Rites were given to them then in all their glory, a Vision that filled them, changed them in a way none of them could ever after say but that each one knew left them forever different. Before that moment, they were a disparate group united for the purpose of survival; after that they were bound together for a purpose they all knew would reach far beyond their little mortal lives. The radiance of the Vision shone about them, moonlight gleaming off Soliam’s horns and emphasizing the glory of his presence all the more until he shone like the sun, and the light reflected off him in dazzling sparks. The other seven stood shoulder to shoulder with him, gazing at the future they were called to create. At last, the coruscating light faded into the stars. They were all safe, miraculously unhurt in their fall, standing about midway down the hulk of the beast next to a small pool into which the waterfall of tears debouched before continuing to fall endlessly down the mountain. The air around them was still, the sun sedately rising as the moon reluctantly gave way to the dawn, and the remains of the beast lay shattered before them, a massive hulk already petrifying into stone.

“What _was_ that?” Gol said at last, his usually commanding voice as vulnerable as a child’s. As ever, he looked first to his Emperor for guidance, but Soliam himself looked shaken and unsure.

“Hrooooh-hyoom!” Ha’ub groused, fluttering up to perch on Soliam’s horns, his incredulity at the battle’s final end and the vision they’d received plain. It had happened so fast he could not quite understand, he seemed to imply. “Scrreee-hyeek?” He turned to Lu Sclorian, cocking his head. He clearly wondered if the Sap had anything to impart from his own long history.

Lu Sclorian still looked to the sky, evidently lost in wonder and reflection, his habitual kind smile gone from his face. “No, my friends,” he said absently, “there is nothing in all my knowledge, in any of my kin’s experiences, that rivals this. We are writing a new story, here and now.”

Triesta stepped forward out of the shadow, shading her eyes with a wing from the slowly growing light. “Did…did we all see the same thing? Freedom for those worthy, in the peaceful lands above?”

“Peaceful?” Jomuer growled and shook the great fluff of his mane out. “They’ll have to fight for that peace, sister, but if they work for it…”

“If _we_ work for it,” Soliam said with finality, his voice dark. “You all must understand what this means. We give up our freedom so that all others may yet go free, using a so-called Liberation Rite to prove themselves worthy. If you stand with me in this, none of us shall ever return to the world above.”

Ores rippled all along his vast length, the wyrm version of a shrug. “In service of justice for this one’s brethren, this King cares not for his own freedom! To teach others of the glory of our vision seems a worthy quest in which to spend this one’s remaining years, since the Titans are **NO MORE!” **He looked down at Milithe, almost invisible in his enormous shadow. “You agree, I’m sure!”

MiIlithe winced away from his exuberance and slithered further away from him. “Asss ever, Ores, thou art too loud. We really must create sssomething, and sssoon, to mitigate that, whether for thee or for usss, we do not care.” She hissed and shivered all down her body, causing the various pouches and accoutrements of her trade to rattle and jingle. “We understandeth not how we can come from the ssssame heritage. Yet, we ssslither down the sssame trails in thisss. We, too, sssee little necesssity in our removal from these fell landsss; we have much to learn and ssstudy here, not leassst the Titans’ remainsss…” Her gaze swung to Lu Sclorian, eyes narrowing. “And, Sssclorian, I think thou art in the right that we mussst pen a new ssstory. The visssion we received must be passsed to the exiles of these lands. We ssshall need to begin preparationsss immediately in order to gain the necessssary materials. Ink. Parchment. Leather and bone…” she trailed away, ticking off the supplies one by one on her long nails.

“How can mere text possibly encompass what we have seen here today?” Gol looked down at her in puzzlement. “Already the description seems impossible and you all saw it with me.”

Sclorian drew himself back from whatever far star his thoughts had occupied, looking down at the bog-crone beside him with his usual vague kindness. “We shall have to write it in a way that combines word and image, thought and action combined. A Book that is more than a book, and teach the exiles to Read it.”

“If it is to be the work of our lives, then this shall be our Will and Testament, written into the world in a way that endures long after we are gone,” Soliam proclaimed, his voice ringing across the rocky wasteland of the mountain.

“That is quite the monumental task in and of itself,” Triesta said, gliding forward to look out over the hulk of the archbeast. “How do you propose such a feat? What earthly parchment or ink could encompass such a creation?”

“We may have a few ideasss about that,” Milithe said, looking thoughtfully out across the land as well. “There isss much to be gained from Yssslach in particular, we do believe, but the other Titanic remainsss may yet yield knowledge and materialsss beyond our knowing.”

Jomuer growled softly, looking at her with an uneasy eye. “You’re sayin’ you want to carve ‘em up, like what you do to those other poor souls?”

“Poor sssouls, indeed, to live and die ussselessly. Better by far to sssuccumb to knife and nail, and let their deaths contribute to knowledge that will live on long after you thou wilt, Alpha-Chief.” Milithe grinned at him, a brief quirking of lips that looked, to those uninitiated to her ways, humorless. “Thou art welcome to join them at any time, Mangy-Mane. We have long sssought to know what secrets thine pelt hidesss.”

“Mangy—!” Jomuer yipped, a strange noise to come from someone so large. His eyes narrowed, formulating some response, as Ha’ub let out a long trill of something that sounded like exasperation mixed with affection, and fluttered over to sit on Milithe’s head. She pretended to bat him away, but he dodged her swats with practiced ease as he scolded her.

“Accursssed imp,” she accused him fondly. “Dare not put the onusss of thisss on usss. We were minding our own business when we were accused.”

“No, he’s right,” Gol said, the same mix of irritation and fondness in his voice. “I swear this never-ending battle against Sung-Gries would have been done a year ago if you two could just curb your tongues.”

Jomuer stared Milithe down, and she smirked, knowing she could counter anything he threw at her. At last he broke, and fell about laughing. “All right, all right then, I should have known I couldn’t get the best of you.” He trotted up to her, looming over her tiny frame by more than double her length. “Carve me up when you’re ready then, ya old snake.”

Milithe raised an eyebrow as she looked up at him. “Thou mayessst sssomeday regret sssaying that, friend cur, but we hath bigger plansss than thee at present.” Her smile grew to something a little frightening as she looked up at the great hulk of Sung-Gries. “We ssshall begin as we mean to go on, with humor, blood, and bone collected all at once.”

Triesta pulled a face, and looked away. “Must we truly resort to the Titans’ cast-offs, their very flesh and bone, to create our new world? It seems ill-omened, to build a peace on the back of violence.”

Milithe’s eyes shuttered, the glint of scientific zeal tamped to an ember as she said with barely controlled temper, “Thessse cassst-offssss, as thou callessst them, ssshall be of incalculable value to usss all, but we shall not explain it to someone who hath not the will to underssstand it. If thy vaunted purity of mind keepeth thee from opennesss of thought, it ssshould not be our task to enlighten thee.” She turned away, sighing, and bent, reaching out a cautious nail to catch a bit of the pooling water and bring it up to her lips. “These watersss are clear, but even they are ssslightly contaminated, enough to keep them from ussse as a true reagent after their fall through the rocksss above. We mussst determine if the sssource be clean of impurity.”

Gol sighed. “You’re saying you want to climb the mountain again.” He reached out a hand to Ha’ub, who fluttered onto his broad shoulder with practiced ease and chattered something encouraging to all in the nature of the fact that at least they wouldn’t be fighting it this time. Gol nodded and tousled the imp’s fur, smiling. “Indeed, friend imp, we must only worry about the barbed tongue and rapier wit of our molten friend here.”

“Aye, the trip back up will likely be far less arduous than before,” Soliam said, his voice thoughtful as he peered up. “But, I must point out, we shall need to find a way off this floating rock here. And though Sung-Gries be defeated, the Sisters of the Arch hunt for us still. We are not yet out of danger.”

Milithe scowled. “We wouldst not ask ye to join us on this repeated trek. ‘Tisss our tasssk to catalog thessse lands and thusss, long have we traveled and enjoyed our sssolitude. Thisss multitude hath gathered here to dessstroy the archbeast, but the remainsss are now our only interessst. Ye must have thine own interesssts elsssewhere...”

Sclorian said, his normally gentle voice implacable, “We have all seen the same vision you did, madame. The summit of this highest peak in the lowest land should serve as our home as we build this vision. Is that not so, my liege?”

“Liege no longer, Emperor no more.” Soliam smiled, a little sadly. “Truly, we are something new and we must take new roles, each one of us. Here we shall make our stand, as we write our story. No more adventurers and wanderers are we, my friends. We are become Scribes, and our Words must be made good.” He looked around at the floating plateau of rock. “For now, we have fought by each others’ sides for many moons, and we deserve a day of rest. The great work of the rest of our lives may wait until tomorrow, don’t you agree?”

They spent the rest of the day resting or chatting, punctuated with still-wondering gazes at the summit and deep thought about their ongoing purpose. At last, they settled in the deepening evening around a glowing fire, scattered in an exhausted pile. Soliam sat nodding sleepily, Gol beside him as ever. The Master-General was gone so far towards sleep that he leaned on Soliam’s shoulder, something he would never have dared by lighter hours. Soliam’s arm had gone around him, perhaps by an instinctual sense of balance, or for some other reason none but he could say. Ha’ub lay stretched across Gol’s lap, snoring. Ores lay curled around Jomuer, his eye closed, the two of them one vast dark shadow in the twilight as they dreamed. Lu Sclorian still stood wakeful, eyes towards the heavens, watching the moon in his eternal retreat from the sun’s light. Triesta had gone to fly, saying that she needed the air. The two of them had taken first watch, still ever vigilant against the Sisters.

Milithe had spent most of the day making lists. Some of what she had would be sufficient. Some of the Titans were gone, past retrieval. Dolnis the Locket had escaped, and no one knew what had become of the Tattered Mantle or the thing it had wielded. Endriga the Widow, likewise, had slipped into the sea, but perhaps something of her yet remained, infused into the waters. Shax Six-Shoulders had no flesh left, but bone there was still in plenty. The list grew longer and longer, her quill with its mundane ink scratching busily on papyrus.

Yslach himself she knew to be sealed. That one would be trickiest of all. For what she had planned, she would need help. Yet, as she looked around, Milithe was loathe to ask any of her fellow travelers. They were not, in the main, going to be useful for much beyond heavy lifting and she needed wits more than muscles. Yet, Lu Sclorian was frail, and they would need his skills here for the actual writing of the Book. No one else was suitable.

With a small sigh, Milithe finished writing. She should get sleep herself, and be rested upon the morrow, but her blood ran fresh and warm, still singing with energy. She found herself bending yet again to her quill.

_Soliam._

_If we all must take new roles, we find ourself ready to begin at once. As we mentioned earlier, we have gone to begin the gathering, and shall be travelling alone for some time. We hath travelled together in our quest to destroy the Titans for more moons than we know off-hand, but it is time now for us to slither separately for a little space. If thou needest us, we shall be pursuant of our mutual endeavors; Ha’ub may most assuredly be able to track us. Sung-Gries and his tears may wait until we return. _

She hesitated. Should she add any more? No. She had fought shoulder to shoulder with these seven others for long and long. They would know what was in her heart, and if they did not, it was no worry of hers. She signed, and slithered across silently to leave the missive in Soliam’s belongings. Jomuer opened an eye.

“Gone again?”

Milithe nodded, the snakes at her brow ssh-ing him softly. “Wakessst not thee our massive friend, or we ssshall never hear the end of it. There is much to do and sssoonessst done, sssoonessst we may return.”

Jomuer yawned. “We’ll keep the home-fires burnin’ for ya, then. Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for out there. We all knew it wouldn’t be long before you were gone.”

Milithe quirked a corner of her mouth in a non-smile. “Our sssearch can never end while there is ssstill more knowledge to be gleaned, Many-Mane. There is alwaysss more out there to be learned.”

“The difference between you and me, old friend.” Jomuer’s tail thumped once, carefully. “Come back safe.”

“Eventually, I sssuppose.” Milithe looked to the sky. “Tell Triesta…” she hesitated.

“Nah, I’m not gettin’ in the middle of that,” Jomuer said. “You wanna talk to the Blessed-Born, tell her yerself.”

Milithe shook her head, the snakes hissing irritably at her for jostling them. “Ssshe and I ssshall never sssee eye to eye in our aims. Bessst not.”

Jomuer scoffed. “If ya say so. Better get on, then. She’s on watch tonight.” He lifted his head and sniffed. “She’s on her way back though. Best go on if ya truly want to miss her.”

Milithe nodded. “Fare thee well, Jomuer. After all, I ssshall want thy hide unsssullied in the fullnesss of time.”

Jomuer gave her a low rumble of a growl, and Milithe retreated, satisfied that she had left with enough warning to the others. She gathered her things and slithered toward the far edge of the floating rock, peering over the edge with some calculation. She had sorceries aplenty to aid her with an ascent, spells of levitation, of weightlessness, and of healing in case of a failure of the first two.

She began the chant, drawing materials from her bag. She was beginning to run low; she would need to scavenge when she reached the lands below. As she felt the magic rise, flowing through the length of her diminutive body from tip of the tail to wriggling snakes above, she wove it into the chant. When all of it sang through her, the harmonies of the magic and the rhythm of the chant in perfect accord, she gathered herself in a tight coil and pounced over the edge, ribboning into the deep well of the night and trusting that the stars’ light would see her safe.

“You’re going _now_?” The voice startled Milithe as she floated downward, and she gasped, losing her concentration. For a dizzy, grasping moment, she toppled, and then Triesta had her, squawking in pain at the heat of Milithe’s magic rapidly dissipating off her skin, but not letting go. They landed in a swearing, hissing pile on another floating rock rather further down.

“Whence camessst thou?” Milithe spat, sorting herself out and carefully disentangling her tail from Triesta’s primary feathers and talons. “What foolissshness is thisss?” She drew herself up

“My apologies. It was not my intention to frighten you.” Triesta looked ruefully at her burnt feet. “Nor yet to disturb you. How many times have I seen your scorching sorceries in these many years, and yet I still make the same mistake a fledgling chick would…”

“Thou art incapable of causing usss affright, Harp,” Milithe scowled. “But now we mussst begin again.” She peered into her bag. “Yet we are out of the very ingredientsss we sssought. We mussst ponder another way down.” She dug a little harder, finally coming up triumphant with the ointment she sought. “For now, know we are not heartlessss. Use thisss on thy burnsss and thou ssshalt be much comforted.” She opened the jar and made to hand it to the Harp, who took the unguent with a cautious foot, but dropped it again with a little hiss as it came in contact with a blister.

Milithe sighed. “We shall do it for thee, and then thou mussst be on thy way back to our compatriotsss.” She took the jar and carefully began smoothing the ointment inside over and around the blisters with practiced, careful hands, careful not to let her long nails graze the tender skin. Her own skin had cooled, the sourcerous humours within her settling back to a warning hum.

“Are you coming back?” Triesta asked, watching her with narrowed eyes, as though she expected Milithe to burst into flame.

“Nay, not sssoon. We hath much to do in thessse lower landsss. Sssclorian and I have communed, and determined we ssshall need many materialsss and ingredientsss in the lands here below to create sssuch a ssset of tomesss as we mean to.”

“So you mean to go through with that plan,” Triesta said, resignation in her eyes. “Is there truly no other way?”

“We sssee none other,” Milithe snapped impatiently, finishing with the ointment and drawing clean cloths out of her bag. “The remnants of the previous masssters of this Downssside mussst and shall be the foundation of a new world; no other materialsss could withssstand the strain of the magicsss we place upon them. Canst thou truly disssapprove?”

“I can.” Triesta sighed. “But I can understand the necessity as well. Of all of our comrades I swear I understand you the least. Can we not try to calm the enmity between us? Come to a compromise in our ideals?”

“Enmity? We hath no time for ill-will with thee nor any of the othersss,” Milithe said matter-of-factly. “We ssseek knowledge and that is all thou needst know of us.”

“I do feel I understand you a little better now. I may not need to know more, but I would like to,” Triesta said, cautiously stretching her feet. “You’ve been kind and I thank you. I know there is more to you than mere scientific zeal.”

“We needeth neither your thanksss nor your underssstanding, and there is nothing _mere_ about our sssearch for knowledge. It ssshall be the only thing that ssstands between the Downssside and dessstruction.” Milithe said, turning her face away and busying her hands with putting the rest of her ointment and bandages back into their storage. “Taketh thy flight toward the heavensss and leave us be, before the othersss misss thee.”

“They’ll miss you too, you know,” Triesta said mildly, standing and making a face before hopping into the air so as to take the weight off her feet and test her feathers for flight readiness before settling into a somewhat precarious seat on the edge of the platform.

“Nay. We hath an understanding of each other, we and Sssoliam, but there is no love there.” Milithe straightened, stretching her back before slithering to the edge herself and peering downward with a thoughtful eye. “Very well. Go about thy business, Blessed-Born, and we shall meet again, perchance, another time.”

“Ah, but your spell. How will you get down?”

“We hath ways and meansss, Harp, as thou dossst.”

“Let me take you to the foot of the mountain at least,” Triesta said. “In thanks for your good care and in reparation for ruining your spell.”

“And how dost thou propose to do that?” Milithe said. “Wilt thou carry usss in thine damaged feet as an eagle huntsss a wyrm-child? Nay, we ssstill hath sssome dignity and we ssshall keep it, even sssmall as we are.”

“As ever, it seems we are at an impasse.” Triesta thought a moment. “Let me go and retrieve my scepter. My own spells are none so weak that they cannot carry one tiny—” she coughed. “Err, one bog-crone to the lands below.”

Milithe groaned. “We needeth not thine help, Blessssed-Born, sssmall though we may be. Go, be at peace as thou wilt, and let usss be about our own business.”

“Why are you so difficult?” Triesta snapped back. “Accept my offer in the spirit I give it and let us part in friendship.”

Milithe scoffed. “Friendship between a bird and a sssnake? Thou shouldssst fear usss, not befriend usss. Every time we think perhapsss thou’rt not sssuch a fool as thou lookst, thou provest us wrong.”

Triesta’s head snapped back and her eyes narrowed. “You are cruel, Milithe, and that was uncalled for.” She gathered herself and leapt off the side of the rock and into the air, winging away into the night in high dudgeon.

Milithe sighed and shrugged, looking again over the side of her platform. Triesta’s hopping had given her an idea as to how to get down. She had never hesitated to give herself the same scrutiny she would give anyone under her knives. She owed it to the others and herself to be perfect, whether by nature or design, and so within minutes, she was on her way, coiling herself and springing from rock to floating rock with a little help from alchemy but mostly her own augmented muscles, the product of many a previous experiment. It took most of the night, but at last, she reached something she thought she could call the ground.

Catching her breath, she gathered herself. The energy she had had earlier was dissipating fast, and she was left small and cold in the approaching dawn. She needed real rest, and soon, but she also needed to find cover and some nourishment. She could not sleep in the open, not with the Sisters about. Just to herself, a private admission, she could wish that she had someone to watch her back, but she had made her choices.

“Is jumping down the rocks truly more dignified than just allowing me to carry you?” For the second time that night, Milithe startled, the lantern held in her outstretched hand nearly falling to the ground. “You call me foolish but I return that you are being foolhardy, and which, in the end, is the more grievous sin?” Triesta landed next to her in the pale pre-dawn light, the burns on her feet having evidently healed enough to take weight due to Milithe’s ointment.

Milithe sighed. “Mussst we go through this yet again? We needeth not thine help, nor thy presence. We thought we had made ourssselves clear.”

“I disagree, and so, I’m afraid, do the others.” Triesta returned, her voice light and amused. “You made yourself clear, I’ll grant. You clearly need more help than you are willing to allow yourself. This quest you have taken upon yourself is, again, foolhardy and, I submit, ill-conceived, yet I have been convinced that it is necessary.”

“And ssso thou’rt taking it upon theself to act as our nursssemaid?” Milithe spoke curtly. “We needeth no sssuch thing.” She tried to ignore her own shivering. Her remaining energy was fragile, the merest spark left to keep her going. She could not endure much more.

“Nay, you misunderstand,” Triesta said patiently. “I am here to help. Consider: if you are traveling you will need someone to protect your weak spots and I think you can agree that my talents lie in conciliation, where yours do not. We can complement each other, Wild-Witch to Blessed-Born, and at last may find peace between us.”

Milithe yawned where she had meant to give a fierce rejoinder, and paused. There was some truth to Triesta’s words, and she was beyond the energy to fight them in this cold morning light.

“We mussst sssleep,” she said at last, blinking slowly. “We ssshall dissscuss thisss more later.”

Triesta merely smiled. They both knew she had already won her case. “Sleep then, friend, and peaceful dreams to you. I shall guard your slumber.”

They found an overhanging rock and Milithe set her lantern where it could warm her and take in the Sun’s light. She curled into herself, the snakes of her hair coiling into every tiny crevice in an effort to find or create warmth, and yawned hugely. Triesta sat next to her, scepter at her side, watching the sulfurous haze of the morning waft lazily in the wind. Heat wafted off the Harp’s skin, and Milithe, involuntarily, luxuriated in this unexpected boon. As she blinked sleepily, slowly slipping into the welcome dark, Milithe’s thoughts turned back to the others, somewhere far overhead.

They were become Scribes, but the Titans were only the beginning. There was so much work to be done, so much to be learned. She had not the time for peace, nor for friendship, but here was this importunate Harp, and through her, the connection to the others Milithe had tried to spurn. What was she to do with such a gift? And yet, Milithe could find it somewhere deep within herself to be grateful that one other, at least, could be spared from the great work above for a little while yet. Perhaps, in time, they would understand each other at last.


End file.
